


untitled

by creamyoreofillings



Series: unfinished stories [13]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood, Like, One Sentence, america being an idiot, its 12 wth am i doung, minor depictions of violence, not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creamyoreofillings/pseuds/creamyoreofillings
Summary: hellow my friends. tis i, a rare cryptid sighting.also its 12, idk what to tag this, and its unfinished for months and will never be finished so thats why this is in that unfinished stories series.,,comment ur thoughts???pls





	untitled

America paced around his room, biting his nails. Piles of rejected gifts scattered around him, cluttering his room. Not that he didnt care for at the moment. He was trying to come up with more ways to make England forgive him, know that he hadn’t meant all those words that he constantly said to him. But every time he approached England, he had to stop in his tracks at the dead look in his eyes.

They weren’t always directed at him, but atleast England did his best to smile politely when countries other than America approached him. He had also begun to talk to France more, which sent off slight alarm bells in everyone elses minds that something about the British Nation was wrong. Even Netherlands was talking to England, making small talk during breaks at world meetings.

America’s heart broke even further, seeing the aftermath of what his stupid pride had done to the island nation. France’s warning still spun around his head, filling him with a sense of guilt.

Added to the dead look of England, the encounter from seven months ago still followed him around like a persistent fly.

=======  
7 months ago

 

“Yo Iggy!!” America yelled, pounding on the door to England’s hotel room. “Iggs, c’mon man! I wanna talk to ya!” He kept knocking on the door, hoping to get an answer.

When the door finally opened, even if it’s just a crack, America immediately motor-mouthed away the other’s ears, unaware of the blank and emotionless stare the British man was giving him.

During his long winded explanation that has nothing to do with the actual apology America had planned on giving him, the smaller man suddenly punched the American right on the nose, making him stumble back onto the opposite wall and slide down to the floor.

Dazed, America looked back up at him while clutching his bloody nose, and felt his blood run cold at the hurt and angered look on England’s face.

“I don’t need your half-asses apologies.” England gritted out, fist clenching and unclenching. “I don’t need you trying to convince me that whatever you had said about me wasn’t true, and I don’t need your bullshittery and your selfish plea for forgiveness!” The smaller man was shouting now, making the sitting nation stare up at him wide-eyed.

Even with this burst of cold and uncaring exclamation, America can clearly see England’s legs were shaking with the effort of holding him up. “I don’t want your lies, United States of America!” England closed his eyes. “Just… Go. Mock me for all you want, but don’t bother me anymore.” He said; tone defeated, tired and depressed.

And as sudden as the punch, he swiftly went back inside his hotel room; closing and locking the door audibly.

America stared at the golden numbers for a few minutes, then stood up on wobbly legs and walked away, glancing one last time at England’s door before heading for the elevator.

Just when the elevator went down, England started to breakdown into heavy sobs in his hotel room against his door, trembling knees getting steadily wet from the tears that spilled from his eyes.

=======

After that encounters with England grew frustratingly frequent, as if the gods were mocking America for his inability to lay down his pride and ask for such a simple thing.

When he went to Europe for a business trip, he thought he had spotted England admiring paintings in an art museum in Norway. When he went to Canada for just chilling with his brother, he saw the British Nation again in one of the coffee shops; talking with another man and seeming to have a good time with him. And another time that he had went to visit Japan because he had a new game coming out, he swears to himself that he saw England chatting with a black haired stranger.

And almost everytime he chose to investigate further, he ends up with the same result: England disappears. It was as if the Englands he kept seeing were illusions, and that he was making these up to fill in the satisfaction of seeing the smaller man be happy. So whenever he sees a head of light golden hair, or a striking pair of green eyes, or even a larger than average pair of eyebrows, America doesn’t blink in fear of losing the sight that makes him feel warm inside.

=======

“Hey America…” Canada said, waving a hand in front of his brother. “I know this stuff is boring, but you gotta atleast be nice enough to look like you’re listening.” He sighed, looking at America with exasperation.

America blankly looked up ahead, staring at a smiling England look-alike conversing with a tanned brunette. For months it was the same routine. Wake up, take bath, eat, toothbrush, work, go out and hopefully spot illusion-England, go home, sleep and repeat. America was getting tired of this. He hated that he couldn’t be honest with the blonde. He hated that he had to be watching from the sidelines like this, not being the cause of England’s smile.

Canada followed his gaze, quietly registering England’s smiling face. He’s glad he’s smiling that isn’t forced politeness, Canada muses to himself, highly aware of America’s belief that this was all an illusion. But seeing his brother be like this, it doesn’t feel like victory. It wasn’t his usual self, and he just stares blankly at England whenever he spots him unexpectedly.

It’s not as if England’s constant outings was a secret. Canada had tried telling America once that England was getting out more, hinting that he could make his move on him when he saw him. He just got a distracted nod in response and a ‘hmph’ of failed acknowledgement.

If America didn’t want to talk to him about spotting the British Nation at random places, then he won’t force him to.

“Y’know, this stuffs very important…” Canada tries again, ignored for the upteenth time.

=======

America was just slipping into his usual seat in the World Summit meetings when the door opened noisily. When he lifted his head, he half expected -okay, fully expected with high hopes- for England to walk through those doors, just like old times. But what surprised him was the very fiery red hair, angry eyebrows and eerily familiar green eyes that instantly locked onto America.

The tall redhead immediately stomped towards the blue-eyed nation, seemingly furious.

“Wha’ in FUCKING HELL did ye do?!” Scotland shouted, grabbing America up by the collar of his button-up. “Ye got some nerve, ya fucking pillock!”

“M-mister Scotland, please put my brother down…!” Canada panicked, arms stretched and hesitant whether to stop them or not.

**Author's Note:**

> hellow my friends. tis i, a rare cryptid sighting.
> 
> also its 12, idk what to tag this, and its unfinished for months and will never be finished so thats why this is in that unfinished stories series.
> 
> ,,comment ur thoughts???pls


End file.
